


Kingsman of Seasons

by SherlockianonFire



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:25:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianonFire/pseuds/SherlockianonFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every soul needs a portray</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Autumn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elaine27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elaine27/gifts), [Slenderlof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slenderlof/gifts), [Silks_shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silks_shadow/gifts).



> Well, set of drabbles I want to share with all of you.  
> Hope you enjoy them and please, let me know what you think about them
> 
> Highly recommended: listen to the Four Seasons of Vivaldi.

Temperance to endure through the changes is his virtue.

Giving in into the weak light, which defies the foliage of his thoughts, changing everything while he passes by, leaving the sublime string of life to change the colour of his fears.

Rebellious wind invading his brown scarf around his neck. His olive eyes being full of golden touches like the leaves that greet him through his walks. Those green and yellow butterflies that announce the end of the day by the fire, to caress his young soul.

No defenses to break, only the calmness of his breathing. The stability of his cup of tea, that eased the passion running through his veins, tea which trembles at the delicate touch of the magician.

The master of changes and future.

The one that bares destiny, being a witness and a pariah of different lives, ready to be a tree that endures catastrophes and at the end, it rises proudly.

 

**Merlin’s heart was just like autumn.**


	2. Winter

Bravery to hold his umbrella.

So much courage needed to face the rain, to let it go down his face. A true knight would never let a rainfall to weak his spirit. On the contrary, it will strengthen his will and polish his armor.

There were not enough puddles to stop his march through the world. Those will always be mirrors to reflect his imperfect self, being the clouds, the dreams to aspire as prize.

 

Not even as a child was he scared of the strong wind that bent the trees of his mind, neither was he of the thunders that ignited his curiosity. 

Who can hold back the tempest across the land of solitude? Who would be bold enough to conquer the cold onslaughts of his heart?

Of that icy realm ready to be melt?

 

There is not grey that cannot be change into brighter colours, but you must never forget that the rain brings life and that every cloud has a silver lining.

The rain and his spirit were one, in unison and company.

 

**Percival’s heart was just like winter.**


	3. Spring

Sweet poison of life, ready to be drunk gallantly.

His charm floating on air, following the invisible music of his dreams. His senses covered in sunlight. Sunrays that blind his judgement by the time his eyes embrace the sweetness of blossoming angels. Fine creatures embellish his edges of his vibrating heart.

Light touches of wisdom in every new scent that bathes his bones and contained his energy. As old as his laughter when he used to jump over the rocks of his childhood river, when he experienced the chirping of tomorrow and expressed life in an outburst.

The innocent and green hope of love in his graceful movements, a light walk over the white clouds of his vows, the dew drops of his past sadness, all of them, signatures of his gentlemanly fate.

And the flowery virtues of nature nurture him in an unbridled hurricane of consciousness and promises.

 

**Galahad’s heart was just like spring.**


	4. Summer

Like a sword to cut the worries around him.

Sunlight shimmering in his armor, eager to be naked of all the voices that might hurt him.  

The emerald touch of the cold sea resembles the encouragement of his companions, opening his wings to let him fly over the hills of happiness.

Waves cleaning his road of thorns, taking him over the bubbles of the ocean of dangers that surround him, that want to make him kneel in weakness. His fierce and passionate revolution preventing him from drowning in the waves of envy.

Embraced in the gentle contact of his passion, water kissing his skin, leaving behind the slavery of his mighty sensibility.

Sun caressing his face, combing his hair as a fatherly hand that wipe away his salty raindrops.

**Lancelot’s heart was just like summer.**


End file.
